


Be It What It Will

by clandestineClairvoyant



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition, His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Gen, M/M, gendered bullshit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-05
Updated: 2018-08-05
Packaged: 2019-06-22 10:41:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15580161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clandestineClairvoyant/pseuds/clandestineClairvoyant
Summary: Dorian, in the manner of everything him and Amandus did, had his daemon settle early.He was beautiful, an eight year old Dorian thought, with delicate golden fur and a bright, intelligent face. His fingers were nimble, a monkey’s paws with five fingers and a short clever little thumb. He loved having hands, and the night that he settled, he would run his tiny paws through Dorian’s hair and bedclothes, giggling little shrieky monkey laughs, all teeth and breathlessness until Dorian kicked him off in a fit of pique.





	Be It What It Will

Dorian, in the manner of everything him and Amandus did, had his daemon settle early.

 

He was beautiful, an eight year old Dorian thought, with delicate golden fur and a bright, intelligent face. His fingers were nimble, a monkey’s paws with five fingers and a short clever little thumb. He loved having hands, and the night that he settled, he would run his tiny paws through Dorian’s hair and bedclothes, giggling little shrieky monkey laughs, all teeth and breathlessness until Dorian kicked him off in a fit of pique.

 

“I’m quite handsome, aren’t I?” Amandus trilled, observing himself in a small hand mirror. Heavy and silver, he had to prop it up on Dorian’s vanity to get a closer look, running fingers through his almost leonine mane, and tilting his head this way and that like a preening bird.

“Of course, _amatus._ ” Dorian comforted him. He was packing his books, clothes strewn across his bed, and the rest of the detritus of his room scattered across the floor next to his chest and travel bags. “Now help me organize my socks.”

“I shan’t. There’s no saving them- Ball them up and shove them in the bottom, it’s all you ever end up doing _anyway._ ” Amandus sniffed, giving a chitter of delight and observing his newly discovered tail. It was long and tufted, like an elegant plume, and Dorian despairingly thought that if he was anything like his human counterpart, there’d be no distracting him until at least supper time.

 

Still. He _was_ quite handsome. Much more handsome than his fathers delicately featured vixen, or is mothers elegantly sparkling beetle, Dorian privately thought with a childish smugness.

 

There was silence for a small while as Dorian obediently shoved his socks and other smaller garments in a laundry bag, and shoved them on top of his haphazardly folded robes and tunics. It was a regular mess of silk and intricate pattern- Dorian despised the regular patterns that were in fashion at the moment. Checkers, or curls like a metronome across skirts and sashes that gave him a headache during chantry service. If he was going to be going to Minrathous, like all mages did when their daemon settled, then he would not go looking like a bloody curtain.

_His_ clothes all had intricate embroidery in silver of gold thread, in the patterns of snakes and lilies and swirling bits of cloud or sky. With an artists eye he leaned more towards the warmer side of his wardrobe despite the summer season. Having a daemon with such beautiful golden fur was quite the boon, he thought in satisfaction. Mages in Tevinter were generally owners of birds and reptiles; Large gaudy parrots or peacocks, wedge-headed snakes and moniters, and scorpions that perched on their human’s shoulder’s like particularly deadly brooches.

 

“Dorian.” His name was like a small fragile bird in the bedroom air, and Dorian frowned at the sound of it, so unlike his normal passionate and energetic daemon. “Do you think I’ll still have to be silent?” Amandus asked in a quiet voice, and Dorian looked up from his sorting of parchment to realize his daemon had fallen still, small paws curled in his lap as he looked into the heavy silver mirror.

The sun had barely risen by now, and Dorian had begun packing in the silvery almost-dark of early morning, too excited by the prospect of _finally_ going to the Circle to wait for the servants to rise and help him. He knew he was going to regret it later, when his things were all a mess and he failed to find a single thing when he needed it, but for the moment it was something to do with his hands.

Eight wasn’t exactly normal, but it was particularly soon to have your daemon settled. He would be one of the youngest there, and it excited him as much as it made him nervous. His father would swell up with pride as soon as he told him, and the thought made the nervous flutter in is stomach tolerable.

 

It might make the shame of having a male daemon bearable.

 

“Are you not excited to be finally going to school?” He asked, concerned, and abandoning the wrinkled and probably pointless notes and school-work scribbles on his rug. He went to the vanity and scooped Amandus up, a small heavy weight in his arms, and the daemon looped it’s arms around Dorian’s neck so easily, the two might have been doing it their whole lives.

“Yes. Only, I know father is… Disappointed.” Amandus said quietly, into the warmth of Dorian’s shoulder, and he felt a small familiar pang in his chest. It was like the prodding of a scab, or a wound that was old and still open. A surge of pain, but also of resignation. “He doesn’t like it when I talk. He calls me Amanda.”

“He’ll get over it.” Dorian said firmly. A little desperately, if the look Amandus gave him was anything to go by. “We’ll be fantastic. The best. You’re the best daemon I could ever ask for, and you’re beautiful, and together we’re going to do _so much._ ” He set the little monkey on his shoulder, and he grasped the long shaggy back of Dorian’s hair like a handhold. It was’t _uncomfortable,_ but it was a habit Dorian made a note to break fairly soon, or he’d be going around looking like a rooster for the rest of his school days. Not the image he wanted to procure.

“Yes.” Amandus said slowly, decisively. “We will.”

“That’s the spirit.” Dorian said with a grin. “Now, let’s go wake up mother and father and tell them the good news so we can go out and find Felix.”

“Him and Berenice are going to _throw up_ with jealousy.” Amandus said with an ill-contained glee, as Dorian abandoned his packing to go out into the dimly lit hall on quiet feet, and find his parents study.

 

The two of them had been disappointments since they were born. Perhaps this small step would go a ways in reconfirming them in his father’s eyes.

 

######

 

Of course, he didn’t stand out at the Circle nearly as much as he did in Ferelden.

 

Years and years after his first harrowing weeks in the Minrathous Circle, and Dorian found himself having mixed feelings about standing out.

He loved Amandus dearly, and his shape was very useful. The little monkey could climb shelves as easily as the monkeys that populated the deep lush forests of the Seheron, long tail dangling down to tickle his nose as he read or studied, and fetching books that were just barely out of his own reach. Some of them were half his own size, and it was a common sight in the library to see him struggling to bring this or that to his distracted human.

Amandus had also been known to help him write reports, small nimble fingers scribbling helpful points on the edge of his papers, or leaving little messages in his notes that made Dorian grin.

And he was quite fashionable, no matter the season, perched on his shoulder as Dorian strolled the markets, ruffling his hair up irreparably as he always did.

But he _did_ stand out among the dull browns and blacks of Ferelden daemons. And it drew more than his fair share of ominous glares and spit on the ground.

Horses, and deer were common, and wolves on occasion. Some squirrels and other forestry made up the large bulk of shapes. But mostly it was an appalling amount of dogs.

He thought the magisterium had been exaggerating in their tales of Ferelden dog lords and whole families reduced to squabbling packs of canines, but the first time he stayed at an Inn close to the border he was staggered both by the noise, and the casualty. A large pile of fur by the fire, rumbling growls and barks, with a stag standing vigil in the corner by the kitchen door, it’s serving girl human looking serenely unbothered by the attentions of the sailor and his nosy goat daemon who were courting her attention rather raucously.

There were a few birds in the rafters, chattering quietly, but none were quite so colorful as the parrots and vipers Dorian would see in a Tevinter inn or tavern.

 

Daemon’s touched more readily here as well. Dogs would touch noses, or lean against each other. Larger creatures might cross necks, or butt heads as their humans shook hands or conversed, while smaller creatures did what they may in clambering over each other and chittering excitedly.

It was startling, and very different from the stand-offishness he was used to. The first time a young friendly stableboy’s daemon shifted shape to mimic Amandus’, curious and playful, and reached out to touch him, Amandus had bristled like a cat faced with a bucket of water, and scurried up Dorian’s robes so fast he’s scratched him slightly.

The boy had been apologetic, but it had been a brisk introduction to Ferelden etiquette.

 

And nothing he grew used to in his travels truly prepared him for the Inquisition.

 

Dorian sipped his drink uncertainly, watching as Bull’s ironically large daemon lay at it’s usual place by the large trestle table. It seemed unconcerned by Krem’s motley spotted dog who grinned around at the tavern as if she were having the time of her life, perched on the bull’s wide back.

As bull’s went, it was fairly average in size, slate grey as a winter river and as muscled as it’s qunari. Their horns were also eerily similar, although the daemon was missing the right one. This far away and pretending not to be staring, Dorian couldn’t quite make out what had caused it. Perhaps running into something it shouldn’t have.

Or, a more sobering thought, defending against something. Perhaps another daemon, or wild creature.

 

“-And then she and her sister showed me what the barn looked like when they were finished!” Bull laughed, sending the rest of his Chargers into general snickers while Sera cackled outrageously. The sound was enough to startle dust from the rafters, and Flissa threw the gathering an exasperated look from the bar. “Straw everywhere. And it smelled fucking _awful._ ”

“Oh my god. That’s rich. That’s just too rich.” Sera managed to gasp out, from her dubious perch on the arm of Krem’s chair. “And then let me guess- it smelled even worse when you were done?”

“Hey, they weren’t complaining about the _smell_.” Bull waggled his eyebrows outrageously, and amidst the laughter Dorian found himself flushing slightly for reasons he couldn’t quite name.

 

Perhaps the name was mulled cider wine with apples. He’d better find out.

 

“Hey! Vint.” The shout was sudden and loud, and rather closer than it had been before, and Amandus answered it for him with a curious sounding chitter. For the better, as it prevented Dorian from doing something so unseemly as sputtering mid-swallow.

A large gray hand landed on the table in front of him, and he idly mad note that the nails on it were black and hard, thicker than a normal humans and filed to be blunt and innocuous, rather then the dangerous looking claws they promised to be. “You’ve been here a week. When are you gonna sneak outta that corner and grace us with your presence?”

Dorian looked up to meet the one eyed gaze, and to his surprise, it wasn’t an accusing, or even hostile one. Nothing but warmth and a faint hint of amusement, behind a very personable face.

A rather handsome face, he noticed.

“And me being a… ‘Vint’ isn’t going to be a problem for you?” He ventured uncertainly, stalling.

“Some of my best friends are Vints. Well, Krem is at least.” Bull offered a brief wave to his handsome, short companion, who seemed troubled to see his leader convening with the enemy. “Grim _might_ be Orlesian, We’re not sure.”

“Hm.” Dorian took another sip, for want of anything to say.

He knew the mercenary had been hired by the Inquisitor- Before he himself had been so graciously taken on, in fact. And the qunari and his crew been ingratiating themselves among the small folk ever since, drinking and carousing and impressively reducing every rebel encampment they’d come across on the way here to nothing but ashes and mangled bodies. It went much farther to improve relationships than Dorian’s own attempts to bully the librarian into ordering better books, or his helpful pointers to their Enchanters. Some people were just… _ungrateful._

 

Rather than leave at the lack of response, the Iron Bull slid into the seat across from him, waving one hand at the bar and holding up two fingers.

“Can I help you?” Dorian raised an eyebrow at the brazenness, slightly taken aback. As well as impressed. Nobody had offered to sit with the Tevinter Magister yet, and the fact that the first was a qunari mercenary was a plot twist he had not expected.

“Not you. But you can introduce me to your daemon here. Hi,” Amandus startled, his small fingers tightening on Dorian’s hair and to Dorian’s surprise, he hid his small intelligent face behind his head, remaining firmly perched on his shoulder.

Amandus was normally a regular peacock for attention, preening and glittering and chattering excitedly.

This shy demeanor reminded Dorian of their school days, when he still faced the occasional bullying for his daemon’s gender. Before he’d established himself as top of the dog pile so-to-speak; Friendless, but untouchable.

He was uncertain of how to feel about it.

“My name’s the Iron Bull.”

Strangers don’t address other’s daemon’s; At least, not in Tevinter. In Tevinter, you barely acknowledged them, unless it was to assess weaknesses or perhaps play some sort of political gambit during dinner or a party. Such as acknowledging the daemon as better than the human, a grave insult generally resulting in duels, or feuds. Perhaps insulting their shape, or- Unheard of, but not entirely out of the realm of possibility- Harming them.

But of course it was another thing abut the south he had noted, and he reminded himself as Bull leant in in a friendly way to peer onto dorian’s shoulder, that it didn’t _mean_ anything.  
They talked to daemons as casually as people, and gave them a respect he wasn’t used to seeing. Mothers would scold children and daemon alike, often partnered with their own, and teachers would exasperatedly turn to a students daemon if it appeared the human wasn’t picking it up fast enough.

It was…. Unusual.

Amandus remained silent, and so Dorian accepted the drink Flissa brought over for them, and answered for him. “His name is Amandus.”

“Nice.” There was a small chirp from his hair, a click of the throat and teeth that made a noise similar to someone drawing air through their teeth very sharply. It’s a noise of pleasure that Dorian had only heard on occasion- Mostly when Amandus was particularly pleased at his own reflection, or was preening himself in front of someone they were interested in. “…Seems like a bit of a pet name though.”

Dorian bristled slightly, without losing an inch of expression of good humor. Perhaps his expression turned slightly cold, because Bull’s mouth quirks up ever so slightly more. “He _is_ dear to me. I don’t see what the problem is.”

“Haha. No, no- It’s fine.” The Iron Bull offered Amandus a friendly smile, but a returning one was not forthcoming. “I can’t talk, after all. My daemon’s name is Issala. Say hi Issala!”

The daemon in question ignored it’s human in favor of a deep conversation it was having with Krem, tail lashing sightly and the dog perched on it’s back piping in occasionally with short, sharp barks of excitement.

Dorian frowned. “My qunlat is slightly rusty, but doesn’t that mean-“

“Dust, yeah.”

“Hm. Very literal, your people.” Dorian sipped his drink, and made note of what Bull had ordered, because it was _quite_ good. Dark, and yeasty, with a bitter after taste that coated the roof of his mouth and kept him tasting it long after it had gone down.

 

Varric had already made a nuisance of himself trying to find a drink he’d like, plying Dorian with different beers on their days off and quizzing him on the state of affairs in Tevinter when last he’d left- Tales of his experiences in the circle, and nosy questions about his past that had Dorian evading with all the grace and tact of someone who had been forced to hide what and who he was most of his adult life.

 

The dwarf hadn’t been fooled, judging by the small smile playing about his face the whole time, but Dorian had been serenely drunk on bad ale and uncaring, and they had become rather good friends since. It was nice, not to have someone implying things with every other word, or round-aboutly insulting either him, or his daemon.

Of course the added bonus of a lack of daemon helped. Simply the dwarf’s sky-metal smithed crossbow, hooked over the back of Varric’s chair. Dorian almost wouldn’t have noticed it if it hadn’t been for the way he kept reaching back to make sure she was still there, blunt fingers drawing along the stock and barrel before coming back to wrap around his mug. His expression never changed- It was simply a nervous tic, or habit. As deeply ingrained as Dorian’s curled arm as he slept, where Amandus would snuggle, or his ruffled hair where small monkeyish hands could grip.

 

“So we’re going out tomorrow. Me, you, Trevelyan, and that badass with the bows and arrows.”

“Lovely. The one with the little hellion of a squirrel daemon?” Dorian wrinkled his nose. She’d been causing _quite_ the stir since their Inquisitor had returned from Orlais.

“Ha! Yeah. Loud, aren’t they?”

“You’d think with a rodent daemon they’d be quieter.”

“Goes to show how wrong you humans can be about daemon interpretation.” Dorian gave him an arch look, faintly challenging, and to his quiet satisfaction Bull took it up without hesitation, or offense. “I mean, look at my daemon.”

“It’s hard not to.” Dorian noted, indicating the large Issala, who was getting to it’s feet, groaning. Krem’s dog slid cheerfully off, and began to insert itself amongst the other Charger’s daemons with a furiously wagging tail and a few barks- a sparrow, a nasty old tom cat, a badger, and that rather taciturn dwarfish fellow’s sky-steel flail leaning against the table where it sullenly seemed to tarnish the very air around it.

“First of all, a large daemon. Under the qun this would put me in the running to become a Sten- If I _wished_. Under the qun, nobody is forced to become something they don’t want just because or preconceived notions of daemon’s.” He pat his daemon as it came up, large and placid and blinking large many-lashed eyes at Dorian speculatively. She seemed quieter than her qunari counterpart, despite her large size, and impressively sharp and wicked horn. The other was filed down now that Dorian could see it closer, oiled and capped with leather.

He wondered what happened to it.

Perhaps the same thing that happened to the Iron Bull’s eye.

“But they don’t waste. And turns out, we’re both excellent liars as well as spies. You think every idiot with a spider or snake daemon becomes a Ben-Hassrath? Or every quanri born with a bird daemon is collared? Those are old wives tales than only _bas_ believe in.”

“That’s… Very progressive.” Dorian was at a loss of what to say. It wasn’t a comfortable feeling.

“Hey. We’re a very progressive people. Top you off?”

Dorian nodded, distracted, and soon enough, they both had a fresh pint.

The Iron Bull was very large, and very handsome, and he seemed to take up all the space in front of him across the table. Perhaps it wasn’t so much of a stretch to understand why Amandus was hiding shyly in his hair.

Dorian would do the same if he had the choice, with that single eye turning all of it’s attention to him, seeming to contain enough focus for two eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was a pleasant interest, a threatening interest, or simply a very curious man with ties to a large political force tying up any loose ends he feels are around Skyhold.

Unknown quantities.

 

Dorian felt that maybe the Iron Bull wasn’t sure either.

 

“If bird daemon’s were what made a mage, can you imagine how many mundane elves and humans would be rounded up? Can’t swing a cat without hitting some farmer girl with a sparrow, or templar with an eagle.” Bull pointed out, draining his own drink, and setting it down. Issala leaned against his chair with a low grunt, almost a low, and gave Amandus a curious look where one bright brown eye peeks from Dorian’s hair.

“Hello. I’m Issala.”

Dorian’s heart pounded in his throat. Although he didn’t show the slightest tremor in his hands, as Amandus curiously crept out, and offered a tilt of his head that looked almost comical with his large mane of golden fur.

“I’m Amandus.”

Issala gave a small grumbling laugh. “Doesn’t that mean darling?”

Amandus chirped an irritated chitter that made Dorian smile faintly. “ _Yes_. I like it! Dorian named me.”

Bull gave him a questioning look, and Dorian’s good humor evaporated immediately. He buried his face in his drink, before admitting grudgingly, “My parents named him Amanda.”

 

Bull doesn’t say anything, but nodded slowly, and Dorian found himself thinking perhaps that a trip out into the wilds with their Inquisitor, the Iron Bull, and the roguish elf he picked up from Orals wouldn’t be so bad at all. Even if her _and_ her small shrill squirrel daemon never seemed to shut up.

 

Amandus stayed out on the table, taking small dips of his paw from Dorian’s drink, and doesn’t return to hiding.

**Author's Note:**

> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
> 
> THIS IS FROM 2015 Y'ALL. I found some old fics and decided to post one of the ones that still read good! I stand by this dameon canon.  
> Others include:  
> Bison- Cooper, my male Inquisitor  
> Vivienne- Silver Spider  
> Solas- Wolf(Monster Wolf)  
> Blackwall- Wolfhound  
> Cole- Nug  
> Cassandra- Horse (Warhorse)


End file.
